._. Just a little thing that I thought I would write. Enjoy and it will only be a short story. ༺༻ ༺༻ ༺༻ ༺༻ On and on I'm circling, through sinful whispers as I grasp through my thoughts of my gruesome detail. Through the pain that I posses, I find myself so comfortably grateful for my life. Living from a poor estate, I loved the way I would foolishly squeak the girlish words when I was shown a different item, but I always felt a weird way. Why was the world so foolishly asking for more? Breathing through the stained glass of many fingerprints of the frosty night of the Christmas season, I felt determined to make a most of it. Christmas was sort of a cliche to me. I never really enjoyed the family time, the fireplace, the people chatting, the partying, I felt so empty. I think I'm on a carousal of agony. If people told me who I am, if they told me what to do, I would never have a clue, and my heart would never know. The glass was fogged but by my breath, but I wiped it off with my very well used purple gloves, where I hugged myself warmly. My dusty coat was almost to rags, and I looked at past couples murmuring and chatting with the cheap decor around the coffee place. I sighed with each breath and gripped myself tighter. The lights were luminous, but in my eyes, dimmed with each flicker, like it was mocking me. The night shined on, as the passing cars and people's conversations making the echos in my ear a lot of safer. I had a heart then, never wanting to stay near anyone, losing all on my own, but my palace has been taken over, but my actions and life that I live now. In an old apartment, with only two windows and my bed, I struggled to through my life. My job was simply journalism. But it seemed like it wouldn't go any further. Then at the exact moment, a smell escaped into my nostrils that smelled of the lightest, sweetest smell I could ever dream of. I was pulled into an embrace. ༺༻ ༺༻ ༺༻ ༺༻ Feedback?
This is a love story, obviously. Based on my friends. She's a weirdo. I'm surprised you like it, I don't usually make love stories, they kinda make me want to actually use what a door is for.
༺༻ ༺༻ ༺༻ ༺༻ The rapture was so uncommonly frightful, I struggled through each moment, as I tried to breath fast to warn that I was choking, but I knew that would only cause attention. Maybe this was the end, was I gonna be raped and sold? A whisper came to my ears and a man stood before me, with warming eyes. "Why all alone?" I sneered,"Seemed I didn't like the attention of not being alone." He chuckled. But I realized that that laughed memorized the only time I felt safe, in the tropics of Madagascar, where I would sleep with my little brother and sister slept, the only time I felt safe. I started to walk away, grunting as my heels clattered around, making me feel powerful he stood in front of me. "But Christmas is all the fun." "No thanks." Then he hugged me closer, and I felt I was reeling into a deeper oblivion. ༺༻ ༺༻ ༺༻ ༺༻
༺༻ ༺༻ ༺༻ ༺༻ It wasn't hard to be hugged, but it always felt a different way by every person, like they had their own unique way of doing it, only the gesture was the same. I felt few, I didn't care much, being alone crowded by New York's finest and chattier pavilions. My life only consisted of food, water, and shelter. Nothing else. As he hugged me his breath showed, the icy air drying my mouth and forcing me to bite my lip in frigid cold, he gestured kindly,"Isnt that better?" "No."I showed aggression. "Your strange."he chuckled as he walked through the frigid night, as the smoky fog of frost covered my face, as I stood there, helpless. What happened? ༺༻ ༺༻ ༺༻ ༺༻
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As I walked through the cold winter night, I suddenly wanted to wonder of what that man meant by me. Me, STRANGE? He's the strange one here. He seemed like if I knew him, but I never really could put it out. It was like a maze, with no exit to me, I was so confused, yet intrigued by the way he acted toward me. But he's still an ass. I stopped thinking about him as I stepped into my ragged house as I starred back at my piano, steering my thin fingertips to the keys, trying to find a harmonic sound. It reminded me of my broken childhood, and my eyes started to smolder. I'm not gonna put up with anything anymore, if he wants someone to talk to, he shouldn't talk time, be aide I want to be left alone, and will always be alone. I took a match from my counter that had jumbled with notebooks and rub age for renovating, and looked at the piano. I pushed it outside into te backyard, as I struggled pushing its heavy force aside, I lit the match with my cold bitten fingers, and set it down on the rusty piano and I crouched down and watched the piano go to flames. That was just an object. It felt like salt putting on my cuts, and it seemed like aid was never by my side. You really can't fix a heart. ~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<~~<